


no rose without a thorn

by sacrebleu0



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Underage Drinking, a little bit of gore/body horror? its just hanahaki so its not too extreme, after not posting since halloween i am here merry crisis lmao, anyways!! this fic has some depictions of self harm, hanahaki!connor, im back!!, lots of teenage angst, paranoid personality disorder!connor, reference to abuse, so be careful, thanks connor, this will probably be updated as more is posted, weed use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacrebleu0/pseuds/sacrebleu0
Summary: “Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.”Connor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. One-sided love? Connor hadn’t hooked up with anyone in a while, and he didn’t have any crushes—Oh.Oh God.Connor huffed a strained breath. Evan Hansen.—Hanahaki!Connor AU!





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who’s back, back again, sacrebleu0’s back, tell a friend
> 
> Hello everybody!! Merry Chrysler. I’m back with more Tree Bros because FUCK I love this ship. This time it’s a hanahaki AU! Some warnings for this chapter: depictions of self harm, underage drinking, slight body horror (just the shit associated with hanahaki disease), and mentions of abuse. It’s not as sad as it looks I prOMISE
> 
> Anyways, here you go! Please leave kudos/comments (yall have No Idea how much your comments make my day, it’s seriously so sweet <3) Enjoy!

Connor felt an itching in his throat. He coughed.

It was a day in late October. Leaves drifted lazily in the autumn breeze, floating downward and downward until they touched the pavement. The branches of the trees quivered and swayed idly. Crimson leaves fluttered around the window he was gazing out of. Connor decided that red was his favorite color, next to black.

A sharp reprimand from the calculus teacher snapped him out of his reverie. He resigned himself to examine the room instead; another referral and he’d have to deal with the wrath of Larry. He didn’t particularly feel like dealing with his parents that day, or any day, for that matter.

His eyes wandered the room, settling on a boy with sandy blond hair in the second row. His name was Evan Hansen; Jared had introduced them yesterday. Connor had never noticed him in class before, but now that he did, he realized he was pretty nice-looking. His gaze followed the line of his jaw, his nose, his ever-fidgeting fingers. He seemed like a mild-mannered, yet anxious guy. He was interesting, no doubt, concluded Connor.

Another cough. Connor covered his mouth with his elbow; he better not be getting sick, he fumed. When he lowered his arm, he quirked an eyebrow. A single inky black petal was stuck to his jacket sleeve. It must’ve been a souvenir from when he walked across campus. He picked the petal off his arm and dropped it on the floor, dismissing it as a coincidence.

Connor tried to focus on the board, but he was quickly lost in a sea of functions and variables. He doodled a flower on his paper absentmindedly; maybe a type of rose or camellia, he pondered, adding more and more petals. His esophagus began to prickle acutely and he coughed once more, this time coughing into his hands.

He inhaled sharply. In his palms sat two petals the color of soot, undamaged and covered in a thin coat of saliva. He turned one over with his finger, examining the veins and the pigment. He’d never seen a flower with petals this dark; they looked almost vantablack, with slate-colored veins running through them. Connor quickly stood to throw them in the trash, picking up the one from the floor as well. His mind raced. Why was he coughing up flowers? He retreated back to his seat and looked blankly at his hands as if they held any clues. They didn’t.

The bell rang and Connor slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, eager to escape the claustrophobic classroom.

 

* * *

 

The sun shone directly overhead—lunchtime. Connor sat at the usual table and took a bite of a granola bar, Nirvana blasting through his earbuds. He let himself get lost in the music, daydreaming as usual with Kurt Cobain’s gravelly vocals in his ears. He was ninety percent sure he had a test next period, and he considered skipping. He could use a good high right now, anyway.

All too soon Jared appeared, sporting his signature shit-eating grin and dragging along Evan. “Hey, Connie. Evan’s gonna be sitting with us from now on, ‘cause he has nowhere else to sit,” he announced. Evan squirmed under Connor’s piercing gaze.

He scrutinized him once more, shamelessly checking him out. While Connor didn’t normally go for the khakis-and-polos kind of guys, they did strangely suit Evan. He noticed how he played with the hem of his shirt and the blank cast on his forearm; he never stopped moving, just like Connor. Always fidgeting and biting his lip and clicking his pen. “Okay,” Connor responded plainly.

Evan and Jared dropped their backpacks and sat across from Connor, retrieving lunches and beginning to eat. Jared ranted about something the band director did (“She moved me from first to second chair! This is bullshit! She only likes the first chair guy because his brother went here...”) and Connor piped in every once in a while, but Evan remained mostly silent.

“Maybe you’re just a shit trumpet player?” Connor retorted, but was interrupted by another coughing fit. He coughed into his hands again, and was simultaneously shocked yet not to find a few onyx-colored petals in his palms. He instinctively hid them from the view of Evan and Jared.

“Ew, man, don’t cough into your hands, that’s gross,” Jared grimaced.

“Yeah, sorry. Allergies,” Connor lied, stealthily clasping his fingers around the petals and throwing them behind him into the dirt. It felt like a beetle, crawling maliciously up his trachea and threatening to spill out. The legs of the iridescent black beetle tickled his tongue and Connor stifled the need to cough. “What the fuck is happening?” repeated in his head like a broken record. The world went fuzzy and he struggled to breathe, not sure if it was due to the flower petals or his chronic paranoia.

“C-Connor? A-are you okay? You’re breathing kinda heavy,” Evan inquired quietly, looking at him with cerulean eyes laden with worry.

Connor swallowed the anxiety (and the flowers) and forced a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Just allergies.” A wave of lightheadedness flooded his body.

“I-If you say so,” Evan mumbled, returning to his lunch.

He was definitely skipping next period, Connor decided. He needed a break from the suffocating closeness that class brought. And it just so happened he had a couple of joints in his truck he meant to smoke last night but never got around to. He finished his granola bar and stood, checking the time. Lunch was almost over.

“Where’re you going, hotshot? Gotta hot date?” teased Jared.

Connor glared at him. “I’m gonna go smoke. Want to join?” He found it endearing how Evan tried to hide his shock at the mention of smoking. Must be really sheltered, Connor mused.

“Not today. I have a test sixth period and I’ll be lucky if I don’t fail it when I’m sober, much less high off my ass,” Jared replied.

Connor barked out a laugh. “Fair.” He turned to Evan and jerked his head in the direction of the parking lot. “Evan?” His throat prickled.

Evan seemed flustered, his ears turning red and his eyes darting from Jared to Connor quickly. “U-Um, no t-thanks, I d-don’t—I’ve never s-smoked, uh, anything before,” he stuttered, obviously nervous.

Connor nodded. “Suit yourself.” He grabbed his bag and began the trek to the lot. He was eager to get high and forget everything for a while.

 

* * *

 

The truck was a 1997 Ford, originally black but rusted and tarnished over the years. The entire interior of the car was covered with random shit Connor had accumulated; cassette mixtapes, a pine tree air freshener that had long since lost its scent, rolling papers, some old t-shirts, a towel, some empty beer bottles. A few (maybe more than a few) speeding tickets littered the floor. The seats were stained with whiskey and tattered, the foam interior spilling out. And, thankfully, a small plastic bag with two neatly-wrapped joints sat in the glovebox, along with a Zippo lighter.

Like clockwork, Connor retrieved a bud and flipped open the lighter. The flame danced before his eyes and he paused, a feeling in his chest distracting him.

It wasn’t a burning, per se, but it was a constant heat, constant pressure, pushing on his throat and his ribcage from within. It felt like an invasive parasite was trying to break out of his body. He lit the joint and took a deep inhale.

The combined pressure of his full lung capacity and the previous feeling led to tears welling in his eyes. His esophagus burned and his vision went spotty. He finally expelled the breath, smoke curling and unfurling from his lips like poetry. His eyelids slid shut, leaning back in his seat and revelling in the sensation. He let the soft, familiar feeling overwhelm him, a tingle running from his spine to his fingertips. Peace.

Connor’s trance was broken by a suffocating feeling and he gasped in a breath. His throat felt clogged, filled with something that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was sharp yet soft, and he recognized it as the same black petals from before. He coughed as hard as he could into his hand, and four petals fell from his mouth, covered in spit and a hint of blood. The petals were smooth, textured like satin, tipped with a keen edge. He dumped them in the passenger seat.

He took another deep hit, breathing in as much as physically possible, hoping, wishing for the feeling to go away. The tears that pricked at his eyes spilled over and he wondered why he was crying. He expelled the air harshly, barking another cough, petals falling alongside the smoke. Blood spattered on the steering wheel and he punched it in an impulsive act of frustration. Why was he coughing flower petals? It hurt like a bitch, too.

Connor picked up his phone and opened Google, typing in a search and hitting enter desperately. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and clicked on the first link, relieved to find it was an actual illness and not just some weird hallucination.

  
“Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.”

Connor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. One-sided love? Connor hadn’t hooked up with anyone in a while, and he didn’t have any crushes—

Oh.

Oh God.

Connor huffed a strained breath. Evan Hansen. It had to be, he first coughed one up in second period, the only class he had with Evan, then again at lunch, fuck, it couldn’t be, not for Evan. Sure, he was attractive, yes, but Connor wasn’t in love with him! How soft had he gotten? He had barely even met him! He sure as hell didn’t believe in soulmates, and even if he did, he could never have one. Nobody could even tolerate Connor Murphy, let alone love him.

He took another drag.

“It can only be cured if the object of the victim's love returns their affections, thus making the love no longer unrequited. The victim is then cured of the disease.”

Connor laughed cynically. Well, fuck. Nobody had ever loved Connor, and surely not an anxious, sheltered boy like Evan. He probably didn’t even like men, anyway! Connor sure knew how to pick a winner, huh? He took another hit and laid his head on the steering wheel, feeling hot tears run down his cheeks.

Another cough wracked his body. Out fell a handful of black petals, connected to his mouth by a thin string of saliva. He hacked again and a few smaller petals came up, bringing metallic blood with them. He could taste the coppery warmth on his tongue and he licked his lips. Fuck.

His esophagus burned like hell, a fire burning in his core. Heartburn raged in his chest, his heart about to burst. He pounded his chest with his fist in an attempt to subdue the feeling and took another long drag of the smoldering joint between his fingers. He welcomed the fuzzy warmth that coated his body, but it did nothing for the pain. Normally, when Connor hurt himself, either on accident or on purpose, weed made the pain go away; but now, if anything, it exacerbated it.

Connor’s eyes flew to the glovebox, where he knew he kept a pocket knife just in case. He bit his lip hard, considering. He decided against it, instead scooping up the pile of flower petals on his lap and shoving them haphazardly into the box. He couldn’t look at them anymore.

He finished the joint and put it out on his jeans. It had been an hour; there were still two hours left in the school day, though. Going back as high and distraught as he was wasn’t an option. He contemplated stopping by McDonald’s, as munchies were starting to kick in, but he figured he wouldn’t be able to eat with flowers in his throat. He sat back in his seat and turned the stereo on.

He let himself slump back, feeling the music in all of his senses and submitting himself to the high. His stress melted away slowly as the THC finally kicked in, his body humming and his fingers tapping relentlessly on his knee. He loved the feeling of being light as a feather, while simultaneously being grounded to the world in a unique way. The world could wait.

Connor must’ve dozed off, because he woke to an angry Zoe banging on the window. He wiped the drool from his mouth and the sleep from his eyes, rolling down the window reluctantly. “The fuck are you doing?” he mumbled, yawning.

“Jazz band rehearsal just ended. Unlock the damn doors,” she spat, holding up her guitar case. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for five minutes.”

“Oops,” he grumbled, unlocking the door and stretching. He didn’t bother trying to hide his weed or his lighter; she’d piece it together either way.

“God, it stinks of weed in here,” Zoe said, crinkling her nose. Yep. “Have you been smoking?”

Connor smacked his lips a few times, still trying to wake up from his accidental nap. He managed to conjure up a condescending tone, saying, “No shit.”

Her upper lip rose in disgust. “You know how I feel about that crap,” she mumbled, taking the passenger seat and placing the guitar by her feet. “The flowers are new, though.”

Connor instantly sobered and whipped his head to the right. “What?”

“The flower petals all over your chest, man,” Zoe retorted, gesturing generally to his torso.

He looked down and was shocked to find his entire upper body covered in black petals, some bloody, some torn. He brushed them all off of him in a state of panic, and they fell to his feet. He didn’t care if they interfered with the pedals, he just wanted them out of his sight. His heart beat rapidly, his lungs working hard to allow him to breathe, a panic attack welling in his throat like ivy growing up a wall. “Let’s g-go,” he stammered uncharacteristically, turning the key in the ignition and moving the stick shift.

He peeled out of the parking lot much too fast and Zoe cried, “Watch it, jackass, you’re going to get us killed! Or worse, pulled over.”

He didn’t respond; he only cranked the radio and bit his lip until he tasted blood once more.

 

* * *

 

That night, Connor slept for thirty minutes, give or take a few. He couldn’t handle sleeping any more; every five minutes he woke up, coughed blood into his hands, and fell back asleep. He laid in bed, awake, staring at the texture of the ceiling resentfully. Fucking Hanahaki disease. What bullshit! Like some stupid virus knew more about his fucking love life than he did. He didn’t even like Evan, let alone feel an “unrequited love.”

He wondered why the word “unrequited” caused his chest to ache more acutely. The presence of the flowers meant the love wasn’t returned, and that was what hurt, he supposed. Which was fine. Connor figured he was more of an… acquired taste. He wanted it to go away. All of it. The petals, the coughing, the feelings, the rawness, the vulnerability. He shuddered. This was all a bad dream. He’d wake up in the morning, realize he smoked some bad pot, and everything would be better. Right?

The sun began to rise behind Connor’s drawn curtains and he sighed. Warm beams of light projected onto his face, making him flip around in bed so he was face-down. His chest heaved once more and he gagged, feeling a petal push at his uvula. It was expelled from his mouth with a rough bark and he shivered. There was a small mound of flower petals beside him on the bed from his coughing fits throughout the night.

He finally decided to sit up and swung his pale legs over the side of the bed sluggishly. He opened the drawer of his nightstand and swept the petals in, closing it once all were hidden. The dark circles under his eyes weighed him down.

Connor went through his morning routine automatically, slipping on a black hoodie and his signature Doc Martens. After he brushed his teeth, he had to reach into his mouth to pull out a couple of petals that still lingered. He was exhausted and his eyes stung.

He snatched his lanyard that held his keys and descended the stairs. Zoe, Cynthia, and Larry were sitting around the table and eating breakfast. The sound of clinking silverware stopped as Connor came into their eyesight.

“Do you want any pancakes, Connor?” Cynthia asked. Connor internally gagged at the faux concern in her nasally voice. Cunt.

“Tell Zoe she needs to get another ride to school,” he stated, opening the door to leave.

“Connor, get back here this instant,” commanded Larry. “You’re driving Zoe to school whether you like it or not!” His voice boomed down the hall like a corrupt judge giving a verdict.

Connor hesitated for a moment, hand white-knuckle gripping the door, before slamming it behind him. A familiar rush of adrenaline greeted him as he stormed into his truck, slamming that door, too. Defiance filled him with a bizarre type of joy. He jammed the key into the ignition and reversed out of the driveway, unsure of where he was driving. School was the last place he wanted to be right now, but it was the only way he would see Evan and holy shit did he just think that? Was that really his thought process just then? God, Murphy! What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt a petal growing in his throat and swallowed hard.

Connor realized that he had already subconsciously driven halfway to school and blew out a cold breath. Fuck. He reached into his mouth, pulled out a petal, and threw it to the floor. Noticing a half-full beer bottle in the cupholder, he took a swig. He figured he needed all the help he could get.

The school appeared and he felt bile rising in his stomach. He could still turn around, maybe go to the orchard, drink some more, forget everything for a while… The thought was incredibly tempting. But, on the other hand, drinking wouldn’t make the petals go away forever. Talking to Evan had a higher probability of getting rid of the damn disease than chugging a forty. He hated the logical part of his brain sometimes. The anger that dwelled in his veins began to dissipate reluctantly.

He parked the truck in his spot and sat for a minute as the sun rose higher in the sky. His eyes instinctively flew to the glovebox and his teeth worried at his lip. Giving in to old habits, Connor wrenched open the glovebox and retrieved the pocketknife that sat there. Rolling it around in his hands, he inspected it closely. The onyx handle was engraved with ornamental swooshes and swirls, while the blade itself was a dark steel. He pressed the flat of the blade on his palm, relishing in the cold feeling that greeted him like an old friend. Dragging the tip of the blade down his wrist, not enough to draw blood but just hard enough to burn, made him smile softly. His train of thought was interrupted by a fit of coughing and a slew of petals, fighting their way out of his throat and into his lap. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned to playing with the knife. God, how tempting was it to press it just a little harder, to draw little perfect beads of blood that dripped down his arm like raindrops, hypnotizing and beautiful and painful—

A knock on the window interrupted his reverie. Déjà vu, he thought, whipping around to see none other than Evan Hansen, fist raised hesitantly outside his door. That explains the flower petals, thought Connor bitterly as he cranked the window down. “What’s up?” he asked, trying to steady his voice as much as possible.

“W-What did you do to Zoe? She’s pissed as h-hell,” Evan gasped, standing ramrod straight.

Connor scoffed. “I didn’t give her a ride to school. Why, what’d she do?”

Evan looked to the side shamefully. “Well, she, um, she… may or may not have stormed up to m-me and Jared and screamed ‘Where the fuck is Connor?’” Connor couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, but it took a minute to keep the petals that built up in his throat down. “Jared turned to me and said to go to lot twenty-four and get you to come out of your t-truck while he tried to calm Zoe down.”

“Good fucking luck,” snorted Connor. Like hell he was going to deal with Zoe today. His eyes stung, reminding him of his sleep deprivation.

Connor noticed Evan’s eyes trail down his chest and land in his lap where the petals rested. “W-What’re those?” Evan asked quietly.

Connor brushed them off nonchalantly. “Nothing. You wanna sit with me for a minute?” His heart beat rapidly in anticipation and he hated himself for it.

Evan’s eyes darted toward the school for a second before he nodded quickly and opened the door, climbing into the truck. Connor cursed himself for being so messy as he moved all the shit that was on the passenger seat, closing the glovebox as well. He watched Evan take in his surroundings, obviously uncomfortable, and he fiddled with his lighter. The stench of weed was probably off-putting, as was the bitter beer that colored his breath. “I know. Shitty truck,” Connor mumbled past a flower that grew in his throat.

“I-It’s perfect!” Evan blurted. Connor’s head jerked to the side and he made eye contact with him uneasily. He noticed how he jiggled his leg furiously. Evan picked up one of the cassette tapes that littered the floor and read the title aloud. “‘Best of Weezer?’ I used to listen to them w-when I was little,” he remarked, placing it gingerly on the seat beside him.

Connor took note of the way his eyebrows rose and the curve of his cheek. He picked the tape up and pushed it into the radio, turning up the volume. “Do You Wanna Get High?” started playing, and he snickered. “Really, now?”

“Y-Yeah, it was, um, it was my d-dad’s favorite,” Evan mumbled into his collar.

Connor got the feeling that he shouldn’t pry any more. The guitars continued for a while, a voice joining it and giving a melody. Connor coughed into his arm and sighed, trying to push down the feeling of nausea that always seemed to follow his petal-coughing fits. He was the first to break the silence. “How’d you break it?”

“What?”

“How’d you break it? Your arm, I mean,” Connor reiterated, pointing at his cast with a polished finger.

“Oh. I, uh. Fell out of a tree,” Evan stated sheepishly.

Connor was taken completely off-guard and he couldn’t help but laugh loudly. Evan chuckled quietly next to him as he guffawed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Holy shit, that’s just about the saddest thing I’ve ever fucking heard, oh my God.”

“Y-Yeah,” Evan replied, smiling softly and running his other hand along the shape of the cast. His body relaxed considerably.

“Nobody’s signed it…” Connor observed, thinking. The flowers growing like Kudzu in his veins urged him on, whispering to him in the back of his head, prompting him to flirt, do something, anything to get closer to him. He bit his lip.

Evan’s eyes became downcast and he picked at the bits of fabric under the cast anxiously. “I-I know.” His voice cracked and Connor’s heart panged acutely.

He weighed the options. He could say “fuck it” to this stupid Hanahaki disease and build a wall like he always did, staying isolated and self-dependent like always. Stability. (Who was Connor kidding, he was anything but stable.) Routine.

Or.

Or he could open himself up, let himself be vulnerable, flirt with him, try to get with him. He’d have someone to depend on. Someone who actually understood. Someone who, maybe, possibly, loved him back. He let himself consider it for a moment...

_It’s a Saturday night. The stars are out, the moon is bright, and a meteor shower is happening in the sky above them. They’re sitting there, at the base of an apple tree in Connor’s favorite orchard, cuddled together with tangled limbs. Evan plays with Connor’s hair gently, pulling it back and braiding it and then letting it go and combing it through with his fingers. Connor has one of his long arms wrapped around Evan’s shoulders, his other behind them for support. A soft blanket covers their laps, shielding them from the cold._

_Evan looks up at him and smiles fondly. He leans in and kisses him chastely, and the warmth that blossoms from Connor’s chest is genuine. Coughing up blossoms was a distant memory. Now, he is sure he is with his soulmate. He feels safe, secure, like he has a safety net. His once-fresh cuts had long since healed, and now the only marks that remained were faded scars. He doesn’t need self harm to feel whole anymore._

_His boyfriend kisses his neck and giggles. “Something on your mind, Con?” he asks sincerely, twirling his long hair around his finger._

_“Just thinking.” He leans down and pecks the crown of Evan’s head. They look up at the sky, watching a shooting star fly by together._

_For the first time in his life, he is happy. Truly happy._

“Can I sign it?”

Evan’s eyes went wide; he obviously wasn’t expecting that. “Uh,” he began, swallowing, “sure.”

Connor felt the right corner of his mouth quirk up into a slight smile as he rummaged through his bookbag. He retrieved a thick Sharpie and turned to Evan, grabbing his arm and yanking it towards him.

“Ow!” Evan yelped. Connor looked up at him in disbelief ( _how could that hurt him?_ ) before pulling his arm closer, gentler this time. A sharp sting of self-hatred filled his conscious upon feeling his heart rate rise considerably at the physical contact. Connor bit the cap of the marker and uncapped it, scrawling his name on the cast in big, bold letters. He nearly covered the entire cast with his name, his protective subconscious rising to the surface along with a slew of flower petals in his esophagus.

“There,” he said with finality after capping the marker. “Now we can both pretend we have friends, eh?” he remarked sardonically.

“Y-Yeah.” Evan slowly withdrew his arm, looking at Connor’s shitty handwriting on his cast. What Connor wouldn’t give to hear what went through his head at that moment, his sensitive eyes raking over the scrawled name.

The pair went silent again, the only sound being the vocals of Weezer hanging between them. Connor shifted anxiously, biting the inside of his cheek hard. He coughed into his elbow again, relishing in the temporary relief that dislodging the petals gave him. It was short-lived though, as he caught another peek of Evan’s face and another surge of flowers pressed at his vocal chords. He swallowed desperately, willing them to fall back into his stomach, but to no avail.

“S-Shit, it’s eight-thirty already!” Evan gasped after checking his phone. “We’re gonna be late to first period.”

Connor mulled over his decision in his mind. He could go with Evan to school, talk to him more, maybe help relax his disease. Or he could stay, smoke some weed or drink some more, maybe go to À La Mode, try to forget about everything.

Fuck it. “Right. Let’s go. What’s your first period?” Connor asked, exiting the truck after turning off the radio.

The sun blinded him.

“Reyes, AP psych,” Evan replied, throwing on his backpack.

Connor whistled. “Damn. Isn’t that across campus?” Evan nodded meekly. “Good fucking luck getting there on time.”

“You?” Evan asked, picking at his backpack strap.

“Photography. Honestly, I don’t think Sawyer is ever awake enough to care if I’m late or not,” Connor scoffed. “Not that I give a shit either way,” he added, looking down at his boots as he walked Evan to his class. He tapped his fingers on his thigh absentmindedly, his heart still thumping in his ears. Would it be awkward to talk to him more? God, since when did Connor fucking Murphy worry about being awkward? He really has gone soft!

“It’s, um. Right here.” Evan stopped, turning on his heel to face Connor. His eyes darted from his cast to Connor’s face. “T-Thank you. For, uh, signing my cast and s-shit. I mean, it’s just really nice to have someone understand and be your friend, even if it’s probably fake, y’know?” he said, talking faster and faster until it was hard to understand what he was saying.

“It’s not fake,” Connor offered, running a hand through his hair nervously. He coughed. “Look, if you ever wanna smoke with me or skip or something, I’m here. Or, even just to talk. We can do that too.” He gave him a crooked, tight-lipped smile. “Later, Hansen. I have a photography class to skip.” He winked and clapped Evan on the shoulder, turning to walk in the direction of Mr. Sawyer’s room.

“Wait!” Evan cried, grabbing Connor’s arm. Connor whipped back around, curious to see why Evan wanted him, and was surprised when he threw his arms around him. He cautiously wrapped his arms around Evan’s midsection, and felt his heart jump to his throat when Evan squeezed his ribcage. His face was burning red when he withdrew from the hug, the feeling of plants growing in his veins bringing tears to his eyes. Evan looked up at him and Connor’s breath fell away. “I just—I dunno. I wanted to thank you. I’ll t-take you up on that offer one day,” he said quietly, his voice shaking.

“Can’t wait. Toodles,” Connor waved as the bell rang. Evan cursed and scrambled into the room, leaving Connor standing there, lovestruck.

He walked down the hall, entering the boys’ bathroom and sighing. Fuck, he was nauseous. He looked at himself in one of the mirrors and crinkled his nose at the bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his face. How wasn’t Evan completely disgusted by him? His hair was disgusting, his face was sallow, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. Connor didn’t even like Connor; how could he expect Evan to?

Connor entered one of the stalls and fell to his knees abruptly, a heave wracking his body roughly. A cascade of flowers fell from his mouth, dropping into the toilet below him. He barked out a cough, wiping his mouth. The petals in the bowl were burgundy this time, a very deep crimson. A few drops of viscous saliva and blood fell from his tongue. His esophagus felt like sandpaper, the edges of the petals cutting it up and slicing it. It felt like Connor had taken his favorite knife and cut his throat along with his wrists (and thighs and stomach and ankles…) Another attack seized his body and tears pricked at his eyes, his very soul feeling like it was growing, growing, growing out of his body, vines and leaves filling his arteries and organs. Hot tears raced down his cheeks as he regurgitated flower petals and blood into the toilet, his entire body aching. Everything tasted metallic.

He sat back on he balls of his feet. He gave up on wiping his mouth and he left the spit on his chin. His tongue piercing felt uncomfortable, a petal stuck on it, but he left it in. He had no energy and he sat there, on the floor, in a stall in a boys’ bathroom, at 8:45 AM, for a while.

He took his knife out of his pocket and fiddled with it absentmindedly. Maybe just one quick session…

Connor yanked up the sleeve of his jacket, dragging the point of the tip on his wrist and smiling. He pressed harder. Blood welled to the surface of his skin, making a perfect little sphere. Again. This time, two beads of blood sat on his wrist, a stark contrast to his pale skin. It was addictive, the sharp, stinging sensation. It felt like giving him what he deserved; a useless, good-for-nothing stoner like him deserved pain. Larry would be proud. Or would he be sad that he wasn’t the one who inflicted the pain? Connor imagined when Larry laid hands on him, the sharp crack of his fist when it came into contact with his cheek.

It was his fault anyway, wasn’t it? If he hadn’t fallen in love with this stupid, beautiful boy, he wouldn’t have gotten this stupid fucking disease. The entire situation hurt more than any cuts ever could. It meant that Connor wasn’t as isolated as he wanted to be, that his walls weren’t strong enough, that there was a chink in his armor he spent so long perfecting. He told himself he’d stop falling in love with people who could never love him back a long time ago, so why was he still doing it? He was in control of his emotions, wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he?

Once more. He had to stop; the fresh cuts would sting like hell throughout the day and bleed into his favorite jacket, so he traced the visible veins, pastel blue, without carving into the skin. He wasn’t that stupid; he was still in a school bathroom, after all. He licked the blood off the pocket knife and closed it, shoving it back in his jacket.

He stood with wobbly legs. The endorphins that had soothed him were wearing off now, and all he was left with was a sticky jacket sleeve and a gross face. He flushed the toilet and exited the stall as the bell rung. Fuck. It had already been an hour.

Connor splashed his face with cold water and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to miss second period; no, it was the period he had with Evan.

He washed his arm with soap and water (infected cuts were the last thing Connor needed) and looked into the mirror. He looked like hell. He dried his face with a paper towel and pushed his way out of the bathroom, heading to Calc.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BAAACK. I’m sorry I’m the Literal Worst when it comes to updating. I just completely lost my inspiration and I’m drowning in schoolwork (PSA: don’t take AP classes.) But here’s chapter 2!
> 
> (ps this is the closest thing to a sex scene i’ve ever written so. enjoy)

  
Connor found himself looking out the window again. It had only been twenty-four hours since he last sat in that seat and coughed up the first petal. It felt like it had been a millenia.

Evan shot him a smile as he walked into the room, lifting Connor’s heavy spirits a miniscule amount. His eyes were glued to Evan’s cast, perversely happy that the only name (and the one that took up ninety percent of the cast) was his. His skin burned under his jacket, itching and pulsating with his heartbeat.

The rest of Calc passed without incident, except for the teacher asking him irritatedly if he needed to step outside when he began coughing. He declined, feeling heat prickle all over his skin like wasp stings.

He couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. After all of his anticipation, he didn’t get to talk to Evan at all. He felt like a petulant child for even expecting to talk to him, his heart rate picking up in defiance. When the bell rang once more, Connor darted out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Connor wasn’t particularly religious but he found himself praising God when lunch came around. The entire day had trudged on like a paraplegic snail, and he could use the break. He was surprised to find Jared and Evan already seated at the table when he arrived.

“Hey, Connie,” Jared greeted, turning to face Connor as he took his seat. “So, apparently, my moms are going to be out of town this weekend. I’m throwing a massive rager. You better be there.”

Connor made a face of disgust. “Yeah, cause I just love big parties, don’t I?”

Jared raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you were saying last time when you got wasted and hooked up with that guy fro—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Connor interrupted, ignoring how his ears burned. “That was in sophomore year, okay? I don’t do that shit anymore.” He glanced at Evan and was surprised to find him hiding his face in his palms. “Anyway, what makes you think I don’t have shit to do this weekend, huh?”

Jared laughed. “Like what, homework? We both know you’ve never done a minute of homework in your life!”

Connor sighed. “Whatever.” He tried to think of an excuse. “Ev, are you going?”

Evan looked up at him with wide eyes. “I-I wasn’t, um, planning on it.”

Connor smirked. “Okay then. Kleinman, if you can get Evan to go, then I’ll go.”

Evan’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead as he began backpedaling. “Woah, woah, are you sure you wanna—“

“Deal,” Jared stated, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Just promise you won’t get shitfaced and give yourself a tongue piercing like last time.”

“Wait, what?” sputtered Evan, looking between the two.

Connor sighed and shook his head. “It was one fucking time, Jared! I sterilized it and everything. It’s not like my tongue fell out or anything,” he whined, sticking his tongue out for emphasis.

“You… you pierced your tongue while drunk?

 

* * *

 

Fifth period rolled by, and Connor sulked into AP Biology, sitting at the lab table in the very back as always. He yawned. In sauntered Jared, taking the seat next to him and pulling out his binder. “About time you showed up for Bio, I was worried you’d never come again and I’d be partner-less,” he snarked, in reference to Connor’s chronic skipping. It wasn’t his fault, he just wasn’t a very science-minded person and could barely stand sitting through an hour of endoplasmic reticulum and cytoskeletons.

“Well, it’s just your lucky day, isn’t it?” retorted Connor, yawning again. Fuck, he regretting not sleeping last night; he should’ve at least taken an Ambien or something.

“I’ve got to talk to you about Evan, so wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Jared said, flipping through his notes.

Connor quirked an eyebrow. “About Evan?”

“Yeah. You’re not subtle, y’know,” remarked Jared, rolling his eyes. “I know you’re gonna try and get with him at the party, but all I ask is to be fucking careful, you dipshit,” he whispered.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” hissed Connor sotto voce. Anxiety bubbled in his chest (or were those flowers?) and he swallowed nervously.

“Evan’s not the kind of guy you can just hit-it-and-quit-it. I’ve known him since we were in diapers; trust me, buddy, I know him better than you do. If you want to romance Hansen, you can’t be the reckless asshole you always are, okay? He’s… sensitive.” Jared clicked his pen a few times anxiously as the teacher began talking.

“Me, a reckless asshole? Words hurt, Jared,” Connor remarked with faux betrayal, then added in a more serious tone: “I know what I’m doing, Kleinman.” He really didn’t, but he didn’t want Jared to lecture him.

“Whatever you say, pal, but I swear to God if you break his heart I’ll kick your bony ass,” Jared threatened, jotting down some notes on a blank sheet of paper. Connor followed suit, an uneasy feeling building in his stomach. He wasn’t exactly scared of Jared (he had half a foot on him, height-wise), but something about his tone was terrifying. Not that Connor planned on breaking Evan’s heart anyway, but still. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to flirt with him. Maybe this entire thing was a horrible idea. Maybe he should just give up and accept his flowery death. Another cough seized him, and he hid the petals in his folder.

Connor realized it was already Friday, so the party was tomorrow night. A caffeine-like cocktail of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety hummed in Connor’s bones. Maybe this party wouldn’t be so bad after all, if he could play his cards right.

 

* * *

 

The day ended, and Connor texted Zoe to ask if she had a ride home. No reply. He sighed and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his ripped jeans and sat in his truck. Should he wait for her?

The passenger door opened roughly and Zoe sat angrily. “Fuck you,” she seethed. “I had to get Dad to drive me, and he was late to work.”

“Boo fucking hoo. Larry can cry me a river,” Connor replied, looking out the window and starting the ignition.

“Why are you such a dick to him?” Zoe cried. “What did he ever do to you?”

Connor flinched. Well, for starters, his favorite pastime is calling me a faggot, he thought, but decided against saying it. “You won’t understand, you’re the goddamn poster child of an all-American girl,” muttered Connor, reversing out of the parking spot.

“Is that a bad thing?” she retorted indignantly. “All you do is smoke and fight. Isn’t that draining?”

Connor barked out a cynical laugh. “I’m just being myself, Zoe, I thought you were all about that gushy positive bullshit.” He pulled up to the front of the lot and waited; the flood of students’ cars would take a while to dissipate.

Zoe fumed and crossed her arms, looking out the window at the football field. “Have you been taking your Zyprexa?”

Connor was silent.

“I would ask if you went to your counseling, but I think I already know the answer to that.”

His knuckles turned white around the wheel.

“You have to actually try to get better, Connor, I—“

Connor punched the wheel roughly. “Zoe, if you say that one more FUCKING time—“

“Don’t you dare yell at me, Connor!” shrieked Zoe, tears welling in her eyes. “I just want you to get better, Con! I’m not out to get you, the world isn’t out to get you! You need to take your meds and go to counseling and try!”

Rage built in Connor’s chest, burning like hellfire. “Fuck you!” he screamed, feeling an acute pressure in his throat. “Fuck you!” He felt like he was face to face with a roaring fireplace and he bit his tongue hard. A terse silence spread between them as Connor tried to hold back tears. Fuck Zoe, what does she know, she never even tried to help him, all she does is criticize and blame and bitch and yell, what a goddamn hypocrite, he hates her, he hates Larry, he hates Cynthia, he hates, he hates, he hates—

Zoe sniffled next to him. “W-W-What are th-those?” she whispered.

Connor looked down and saw a blanket of petals covering his abdomen. They were tinged with blood, a deep crimson, and they reminded him of dying embers. “Get out of the car,” he demanded softly.

“But—“

“Get out of the damn car!” Connor shouted, a migraine pounding behind his eyes. He felt hot tears drip like lava down his cheeks.

Zoe opened the door and climbed out gingerly, hissing a scathing insult before slamming the door. “I hope you’re happy.”

Connor was alone.

 

* * *

 

When Connor finally pulled into the driveway of the Murphy household, he could feel the dark atmosphere. He had driven for a while, going ninety-five in a thirty, trying to expel his feelings. He had rolled down the window and felt the petals lift and fly around the truck, eventually being sucked out through the window. It was oddly therapeutic.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the house, hoping his parents were asleep already.

He wasn’t that lucky. Larry was sitting in his armchair, reading the newspaper. He dropped it as the door closed. “You have a counseling appointment on Wednesday.”

Connor scoffed. Wrong response. “You do not treat your sister like that,” Larry’s voice boomed, and Connor started to stealthily climb the stairs. “Don’t even try it.” Connor paused.

Larry stood and turned to face his son. “Take your Zyprexa.”

“Or what?” asked Connor snidely.

Larry’s hand collided with Connor’s cheek, making a deafening clap.

“Take your Zyprexa.”

His skin burned.

“Okay.”

Connor didn’t take his Zyprexa.

 

* * *

 

Connor sat in his truck nervously. The moon in the sky was completely obscured by clouds, and the only light was that which came from Jared Kleinman’s house. He took a swig of beer to steel his nerves and exited the car, locking it behind him and starting up the path to the door. He hesitated once more at the door, hearing the bassline of whatever music Jared was blasting muffled through the door.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold October air, and pushed open the door.

Holy shit, this party was even crazier than the last one. People were crammed into the living room, drinks lined up on the windowsill, and the bitter smell of alcohol and teenagers filled the air. Two guys from Connor’s English class, Michael and Jerry (Or was it Jeremiah? He sure as hell didn’t remember his name) were making out on the couch, while a group of guys Connor vaguely recognized from APUSH last year were playing beer pong on the dining table. He saw somebody holding a guy in a ponytail upside down in a keg stand stance, while the two dudes at the table were yelling “Alex! Let him down, we have to beat your asses at pong first!” A group of girls with matching Scrunchies were dancing, and a guy in a trench coat was smoking a cigarette and drinking something (was that… a Slurpee?) in a corner. A girl was doing lines of cocaine on the coffee table. There were half-empty solo cups on every relatively flat surface. A large crowd of people he didn’t recognize were packed in the small space of Jared’s front rooms and Connor was feeling a tad claustrophobic.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, where he knew the vast majority of the food and drinks were. Thankfully, the kitchen was much emptier than the living room, and Connor gratefully grabbed a beer, popping the cap off with his pocket knife. He noticed the few people that were in the room with him whisper and point at him, and he sighed. He couldn’t escape his fucking reputation for one goddamn second, could he? He took a long drink, then reached for the Fireball and poured himself a shot.

Jared emerged from the other end of the kitchen, hair messed up and eyes glazed. He was obviously wasted. “H-Hey, Connie!” he called, drawing out the “ey” in “Hey.” “God, you would not believe the shit that’s happening in the backyard, by the pool? The fucking Mormon kids are getting absolutely plastered!” He snatched Connor’s bottle and took a sip before returning it to him. “Who knew the Mormons knew how to party, huh? Last I saw, they were trying to throw the chubby one in the pool!”

Jared fell into a fit of uncontrollable giggles and Connor rolled his eyes endearingly. Damn, he wished he could just relax and let himself enjoy things like Jared. He remembered the deal they made and grabbed Jared by the shoulder. “Do you know where Hansen is?”

Jared squinted and made a face, making a show of trying to remember. “Well… last I saw, he was in one of the rooms—hic!—upstairs. If you find him, tell him to stay out of my room, okay? Last time I convinced him to come to one of my parties, that fucker just fell asleep in my bed!” he slurred.

Connor laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell him.” Jared finger-gunned him and sauntered out of the kitchen, after finding a shot on the counter and taking it. What a lightweight, thought Connor amusedly.

He eagerly ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time and avoiding all the couples making out. He finally reached the top and opened a door at random and was surprised to find Evan sitting in a circle with Zoe, Alana, and a handful of other people Connor vaguely remembered from school. He was sure the slight buzz wasn’t helping his memory.

“Thank God you’re here, Connor,” Evan cried upon Connor’s entrance.

He saw Zoe tense and he smirked. He considered sitting next to Evan, but that would require also sitting next to Zoe and he didn’t quite have a death wish yet, so he settled for taking a seat next to Alana.

“We’re playing Spin the Bottle,” Alana offered informatively.

“Ah,” Connor said. This could be interesting. He remembered Jared’s warning and pushed it to the back of his mind, taking another sip of beer. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this.

Apparently it was one of the girls-he-didn’t-recognize’s turn, and she spun the empty Budweiser bottle. It landed on, surprise, a guy he didn’t know, and they kissed chastely with a chorus of “ooh”s in the background. Connor wrinkled his nose. Thank God he was gay.

Then it was Zoe’s turn and she spun it hard, still looking rather high-strung since Connor entered. It slowed, and Connor panicked, and it slowed, and it landed just to her left. Evan.

Connor felt his muscles stiffen. No fucking way. Bile rose in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the thought of his sister kissing his crush. He felt vines press insistently against his soft palate.

Evan stuttered and stammered, saying something about feeling unwell, and Zoe smiled and leaned over, kissing him. It wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t deep, either. Connor felt fire burn in his veins as he watched Evan’s lips move against hers. His fucking good-for-nothing sister. Anger threatened to bubble to the surface as he clenched his fists.

Evan pulled away, blushing, and stood on wobbly legs. “I-I gotta, um, go—“

Connor stood, striding over to him intently, swallowing a petal. “Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing his cast-less arm and pulling him out of the room. Evan stumbled, letting himself be dragged into the hallway.

“W-What are you doing?” Evan gasped, out of breath as Connor led him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. He looked him up and down and gnawed on his lip.

Connor was about to do something really, really stupid.

He surged forward, tilting his head down to take Evan’s lips in a forceful kiss, effectively pinning him to the door. Evan made a noise of surprise and Connor pulled away, making eye contact. He grasped for something to say, something that would explain himself, but he just licked his lips, tasting Zoe’s strawberry chapstick secondhand, and he felt rage gather in his core before leaning forward again.

This time, he felt Evan’s eyes close, and he relaxed somewhat under him. Adrenaline coursed through Connor’s veins as he pushed his nose against Evan’s cheek in a dreamlike haze. Holy shit, was this really happening? He was kissing Evan Hansen at a shitty high school party in Jared’s bathroom, and the alcohol must be really getting to him, or maybe it wasn’t and this was his id, pushing to the surface of his conscious and licking Evan’s lips eagerly—

He fell back, wanting to make sure Evan wanted this as well, and Evan’s eyes slipped open and fuck he was looking at him with those big eyes and Connor was so weak and oh God this time Evan leaned forward, pressing his lips to Connor’s firmly.

Connor moved his lips in time with Evan’s, and he’s pretty sure this counted as a religious experience because he definitely felt heavenly as he sucked slightly and Evan melted under him, breathing heavily.

Connor pushed down the petals that brimmed in his trachea.

He pressed his tongue to Evan’s and Evan sheepishly backed away. Connor put a hand on his jawline, angling his head upwards to get a better angle and to draw him closer as he took the lead, kissing Evan gentler than he had ever kissed anyone before. Normally the one-night stands he had at Jared’s parties were rough, heavy, filthy, impersonal. This, however, was completely different; Evan was so shy, letting Connor show him what to do and looking up at him with pleading eyes, unable to articulate any words. That was fine, ‘cause neither could Connor.

Except for one. Connor hungrily moved downward, kissing his chin, then his jaw, then his Adam’s apple, then his jugular. He teased the soft skin there with his teeth, feeling Evan writhe, before sucking hard. A noise fell out of Evan’s mouth and Connor vowed to hear that noise more. His fingers tangled in Connor’s hair as he gasped quietly.

“Mine,” growled Connor as he bit the skin, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. Evan let out a shaky breath as Connor pulled away, eyeing his handiwork. A large, bright crimson-violet splotch stained Evan’s tan skin, right where his tendon met his clavicle. Evan keened, his warm hands on the nape of Connor’s neck, pulling him back in.

Time passed in an alcoholic haze. Tongues on lips, mouths on skin, hickies on necks, hickies on chests, hickies on hips, hips on hips, warmth. An overwhelming warmth growing between them. He could feel the serotonin lighting up his senses, or maybe that was the alcohol, as his hands drifted to his waist, pulling him ever closer. Connor kneeled on the cold tile, pressing a kiss to Evan’s hip, playing with the waist of his jeans. His eyes darted up to Evan’s, asking permission.

Evan’s face and chest were painted a sanguine red, his pupils blown wide. Connor felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. His shaking hands were brought up to his face, muffling himself. “C-Connor, I…” he began, his voice husky. Connor felt a shiver run down his spine and he licked his lips. “I c-can’t.”

Connor sat back on the balls of his feet, looking up at him in shock. “What?”

“I can’t, um, d-do this,” Evan mumbled quietly, hiding his face in his hands.

Connor felt himself deflate numbly. “Why not?” he asked, instantly sobering from the love-drunk daze he was in.

“I-I-I, uh, just c-can’t. I’m sor-ry,” Evan stammered, opening the door and running out of the bathroom.

Connor was alone. Again.

He wondered why his eyes burned. He felt a familiar prickle on his tongue and he coughed reluctantly, revealing a maroon petal. Fuck, what did he do?

Self-hatred began to fill his lungs. God, did he just...? No, it wasn’t, it was completely consensual until Connor made it weird. Evan was wriggling under his grasp, moaning his name, it must’ve been consensual. Maybe Evan just realized how disgusting he is and that’s why he pulled away so abruptly. More petals pushed at his esophagus. What was Connor even thinking, making out with Evan Hansen? He was so out of his league it wasn’t even funny. Maybe he was straight; he seemed to enjoy the kiss with Zoe.

Zoe. Fucking Zoe.

Connor reached up to lock the door and sat back down, his back pressed against the wood. He looked at his hands. What did he just do? Evan must hate him now. What a stupid, crazy, insane psychopath he was—

Connor automatically reached into his pocket and retrieved his trusty knife, playing with it in his palm. God, what a fucking idiot, thinking he could get with Evan Hansen.

A bead of blood fell to the white tile. Then two, then four, then more.

He welcomed the stinging sensation like an old friend, dancing with it, doing the waltz he knew from heart. Tiptoeing, leaning into it, letting it guide him. More petals fell into little puddles of blood, and he absentmindedly pushed them around with the tip of the knife. What a fucking waste of space. Larry was right. Deeper.

In a rare moment of clarity, Connor made a connection. He realized that he was still puking up petals, so that meant he was still infected with that disease, so that meant that Evan still didn’t love him back. He laughed. That’s one mystery solved. He wished he had something strong—maybe Everclear or tequila or something to make him forget. He could go downstairs and get some; he could still hear the party raging, the bass pounding in his skull, so the alcohol must still be pouring.

He stood to go downstairs, and felt his knees give out. He collapsed.

 

* * *

 

“Con.. nor… Con… Connor!”

Connor groggily opened his eyes, immediately squinting them again. Fuck, it’s bright. Where was he?

“Open the fucking door, you stupid motherfucker!”

The events of last night, as well as a migraine, came rushing back to the forefront of Connor’s brain. He groaned.

He had made out with Evan Hansen. Holy shit.

“Bwuh?” Connor grumbled, rubbing his eyes with a hand that he quickly noticed was wet. He looked down. He was lying in a puddle of his own blood, vomit, and garnet flower petals. He felt bile rise in his throat and crawled to the toilet, vomiting. His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Jesus, Connie. At least you’re awake,” Jared’s voice called from behind the door.

Connor wiped his mouth and flushed the toilet, grasping the bowl to help himself stand. He hobbled to the door and unlocked it, his eyes closed to prevent the ridiculously bright bathroom light from blinding him.

Jared stormed into the room and gagged upon seeing it. “Holy fuck, what happened?”

“I.. I don’t remember,” Connor muttered, attempting to wash his hands. Everything was too much.

Jared handed him a pair of douchey sunglasses, which he gratefully slipped on his face. Now he could open his eyes and holy shit he looked disgusting. He splashed his face with water and cursed God for inventing hangovers.

“Dude,” Jared whispered, looking at Connor’s arms. His bloodshot eyes met Connor’s, and he silently asked what happened.

Connor averted his gaze and hid his arm from Jared’s view. He picked up his jacket from where it must’ve been thrown off during last night’s… activities. “Do you have any spare clothes that would fit me?” he asked, changing the topic.

“Uh, maybe. I might still have a pair of your jeans from the last time you passed out at my place.” Jared shuffled off to his room and returned a minute later, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in his hands. “Take a shower.”

“Planning on it.” Connor had been over enough times he knew where the towels were, so he pushed Jared out of the bathroom and closed the door. Making sure not to step in the puddle on the floor, he slowly stripped and entered the shower, hating life. His head pounded and swam every time he moved. The scalding hot shower water eased his pain a little as he scrubbed off the various liquids that had formed a crust on his skin. Beer, blood, and bile mixed as they ran down the drain and Connor held back a gag. He wet his hair and started to shampoo it, his movements slow and groggy. Man, was he tired.

His arm stung as he thought back to last night. Evan. Regret filled his veins and he fought back the urge to scratch the newly-formed scabs off. He just had to scare him away, didn’t he? Now he’d be stuck with this stupid Hanahaki disease forever.

He scrubbed the remnants of last night off his body, his hand roaming downwards as he thought of last night. He never finished, and he could use some relief, so he thought of Evan, the noise he made when Connor gave him that first hickey, his faces, his velvet skin… What if he had let him continue?

Shamefully, he finished the shower. God, he was disgusting. He wasn’t sure if he could look Evan in the eye come Monday morning.

He dressed himself and looked at himself in the mirror, putting the sunglasses back on. He looked like absolute shit, even after the shower. His face was gaunt and tired, he had heavy dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. The shirt Jared gave him was one of his, a tee from one of the summer camps he went to. Connor’s thin frame swam in the shirt that was oversized even on Jared.

He left the room and descended the stairs to find Jared eating a bowl of Cheerios in the midst of the post-party mess. “Somebody put a bra in the fridge. Like, what the fuck? Put that shit in the freezer,” Jared joked as Connor sat next to him and laid his head on the table.

“I’m fucking dead. I died. Is this hell?” groaned Connor.

“It’s the Kleinman household.”

“Ah, so it is hell.”

“Ha ha,” stated Jared monotonously. “Go get a granola bar or something. I have prairie oyster ingredients, too, if you want to make one.”

“I can’t move,” he moaned, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“God, you’re such a pussy,” laughed Jared, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. An uncomfortable silence spread between them. Jared coughed. “So, Connor, about last night. I saw Evan running downstairs and crying his damn eyes out. What happened?”

Connor sighed. “Well, I went upstairs after talking to you. I saw a bunch of people playing Spin the Bottle, so I joined because I had nothing better to do and Evan was there.” He paused. He couldn’t tell Jared he got really possessive, that’s weird and creepy. “We, uh, got picked. And we kissed. And it escalated.”

“What do you mean by ‘escalated?’” Jared asked hesitantly.

Connor shifted in his seat. “We made out in the bathroom,” he finally confessed.

Jared laughed loudly, spitting out his cereal. “Oh my God, you’ve gotta be shitting me. No way in hell.” Connor quirked an eyebrow at him and he snickered. “First of all, Evan thinks he’s straight. Second of all, if what you say is true, you were his first kiss.”

Connor froze. He was Evan’s first kiss? Damn. How the fuck did Evan manage to live seventeen years without ever kissing anybody? He felt an odd sense of satisfaction. Actually, that explained why he ran out; he was probably incredibly overwhelmed.

Wait. Technically Zoe was his first kiss. Fuck.

“So? What happened next? Did you kiss him so bad he went running?”

“Well, it got pretty heated, and I kneeled down, and—“

Jared snorted uncontrollably. “You were gonna blow Evan fucking Hansen? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, too, as Jared’s laugh was ridiculously infectious. “The man’s so innocent he’s practically a fucking nun, and you tried to give him a goddamn blowie in my bathroom!” he cried incredulously.

“I didn’t know! All I know is that he was moaning like a fuckin’ porn star—“

Jared wrinkled his nose and fake gagged. “TMI, dude. Just, what happened next?”

Connor snickered. “Well, I kneeled down and he went ‘oh no, I can’t do this,’ and ran out. Talk about blue balls,” he complained, reaching over to take a handful of Cheerios.

“No shit he ran out! Damn, Connor, I told you you couldn’t just immediately shoot your shot, he’s sensitive. Keep it in your pants for five fucking minutes,” Jared groaned, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t answered any of my texts.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed, asshole.”

Silence.

“Okay, I can’t not ask—what’s up with all the flower petals?” burst Jared, turning to face Connor.

Connor flinched. “The what?”

“Those red petals you had all over yourself. I saw you cough one up in Bio on Friday, so don’t try to bullshit me,” Jared said in an accusatory tone.

Connor sighed. Could he tell Jared? He didn’t really have a choice, did he? He couldn’t come up with a believable lie in the next five seconds, so he bit the bullet. “I have… a disease. It’s called Hanahaki Disease.” Jared looked at him with a quizzical expression and Connor continued. “Basically, I cough up these flower petals.”

“Why?” Jared asked.

Connor hesitated before answering him. “It’s because of unrequited love, apparently.”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“I’m serious! Google it, it’s a real thing,” Connor cried, scrambling to make Jared believe him.

Jared pulled out his phone and googled it, jaw dropping silently. “Holy fuck, dude. This can’t be for real.”

Connor looked him in the eye and reached into his mouth, pulling out a lipstick red petal. “I swear to God.”

“This is… this is fucking monumental! Connor Murphy, president of the emotionless asshole club, feels love! It can be done!” Jared exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “So you actually love him?”

Connor felt his face redden and he looked away. “I don’t know. I guess. God, you know how much I hate this love at first sight bullshit.” Did he love Evan?

“When did—When did this start?” Jared asked, still in shock.

“Thursday.”

“It’s been three days? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jared gawked.

“I’m sorry, are you the same person who just yelled at me to ‘keep it in my pants?’” Connor retorted bitterly.

“True. Well, shit, now I kinda get why you were so damn insistent,” laughed Jared, drinking the last dregs of milk from his bowl. He wiped his mouth and paused before continuing.

“What can I do to help?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a kudos & a comment if you liked it, it means so so so much to me!!! <3
> 
> Message me on Tumblr about DEH, tree bros, or other musical shit @ xsalazzle!


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